My Job

An angel’s calling is never certain. One moment you’re commanded to lead three shepherds to your Lord in a manger. That was the effort of a feather’s flick, analogically speaking.

The next you’re tasked with whisking away the souls of a generation in Egypt. The sounds of their parents are ours to hear, as well. And yet we trust, for we know.

The Lord is hidden behind all clouds, even to us seraphim. The days grow long, and ages pass, scoring roads, canals, civilisations on the earth. And yet… the veil remains for us till this day. Only the commands come clear, and the memory of what we’ve seen – the First War.

The earthly tide barely spells out the nuances of that conflict. A contest of will in the spiritual plane, before eyes, or ears, before sound and hearing. And yet it was real.

The world formed in its aftermath, the world that we see, and the powers that fell were instituted accordingly, by the Fell One.

His influence we see and feel, as a lightning strike brooding always on the horizon, yet held in check, either by their own calculated will, or else with the power of our own army and our Lord.

It is as we say, the Maker is not less than His creation. And yet, sometimes, through the wars, the individual battles in the souls of men, I wonder – I doubt.

What is it like to be human? To be given the indulgence of GOD Himself. Made in his glorious image, and yet allowed to roam rebellious across the world. The havoc his nature wreaks. The pain it must cause him, and Him.

Why? I’ve often asked Him too. And all I receive is a gentle assurance. ‘Look, remember, see. You see more than many. You should know.’ And he is gone.

And so the work continues, and so I lay my hand on the cross, uplifting it, remembering the vision of His glory, and waiting, looking within, and hopeful.

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